


I WALK THE LINE

by Reiss



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Winter Wonderland, but not really, cotton is life, cotton is love, losing my fanfic virginity, wild was a good book
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-05-10 11:02:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5583358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reiss/pseuds/Reiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles lay slouched with his back against a tree, his pack long emptied of all his spare clothing now that he was wearing as many layers as he could manage -- before the freezing sleet rendered his usually nimble fingers too numb to manage. The rest of his supplies lay on top and to the sides of him, providing a little bit of protection. Still, at least he could die wearing his favourite flannel. Coming to think of it, it’s things like taking a flannel shirt on a 1,287 kilometre trek that’s the reason he’s liable to end up as an ice cube stuck to a tree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yup, I suck at this. Remind me to stick to lurking.

**I WALK THE LINE**

 

  Stiles lay slouched with his back against a tree, his pack long emptied of all his spare clothing now that he was wearing as many layers as he could manage -- before the freezing sleet rendered his usually nimble fingers too numb to manage. The rest of his supplies lay on top and to the sides of him, providing a little bit of protection. Still, at least he could die wearing his favourite flannel. Coming to think of it, it’s things like taking a flannel shirt on a 1,287 kilometre trek that’s the reason he’s liable to end up as an ice cube stuck to a tree.

   

  Not too numb to stop appreciating his own stupidity, then. Or to notice the shadowy figure barely noticeable behind the torrent of snow and ice that was doing as good of a job at masking anything over a foot away from his face – he could barely even see his own shoes – as it was of battering Stiles’ face. He focused, squinting his eyes and trying to get a clearer image, probably just another tree, he thought. Only a tree wouldn’t be moving, he may have been looking out behind frosty eyelids, but he was sure the figure was getting closer, emerging from the snowy haze. He almost began to panic at the thought of an encounter with a wild animal, but he couldn’t even muster the will power to care, at this point he was barely conscious anyway what’s the difference between dying of exposure or being mauled? You still end up dead either way. That was his last thought before he went under.

 

  He wasn’t awake, not quite. But he could feel pressure. Something wrapped above his waist and below his shoulder. He felt shuffling. Then more darkness. His head was lolling now, he noticed he was being carried but couldn’t muster up the energy to get a look at whoever had decided to make him their damsel before he was unconscious again.

 

 The next time he woke up he was violently shaking, he couldn’t tell if it was the hands wrapped around his shoulder trying to wake him or if they were trying to keep him still. He could tell he was indoors, though. And he definitely noticed that it wasn’t actually cold anymore, the miraculously thick quilt that had been thrown over him saw to that, there wasn’t even a chill in the air either, he supposed the fire he could hear crackling in the background was seeing to that. It wasn’t until the release of the pressure on his shoulders he bothered to concern himself with the finer details of how he was still alive, like the quick glance at the exceptionally broad set of shoulders he managed to get after he snapped his head round to the figure that just walked out of the room.


	2. Su casa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wakes up drowsy, other than a faint ache in his thigh, the kind familiar to him from a late night run – or a sleep so deep you don’t even bother changing your position – is keeping him from feeling fresh. The bed soft and the quilt heavy, the heat was almost stifling. He’s confused, putting together the pieces of the puzzle that is his memory over the last few days. And then, with a wave of embarrassment so huge he could probably have surfed it hitting him, it clicks. I was almost frozen into a tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a few hours terribly failing to get to sleep and a well timed email, I ended up having another go @ writing this little Sterek story I had almost completely forgot about! 
> 
> Again, it was written at a completely unsocial time and I may have made some silly mistakes, go easy on me :D
> 
> Although it was mostly just something for me to do other than stare at the ceiling, if you're up for a quick read, I hope you like it :)

_Su casa_

 

Stiles wakes up drowsy, other than a faint ache in his thigh, the kind familiar to him from a late night run – or a sleep so deep you don’t even bother changing your position – is keeping him from feeling fresh. The bed soft and the quilt heavy, the heat was almost stifling.  He’s confused, putting together the pieces of the puzzle that is his memory over the last few days.  And then, with a wave of embarrassment so huge he could probably have surfed it hitting him, it clicks. _I was almost frozen into a tree._

 

He removes the bedding with the dedication of someone trying to dig him-self out of a grave. He begins to inspect the room. It was a bedroom, _probably not shattered any theories there_ , he thinks to himself. It is surprisingly furnished though, it’s modern, and very large. There’s a wide, tall and sturdy looking gloss black door facing him –reassuringly resting ajar-   a few feet off the bottom of the bed. A window to his left runs fairly long across the length of the wall judging by the size of the drape curtains. The floor is tiled, large white slabs, but with loads of soft slight cracks running over them giving off a darker look and adding an edgier feel to the room.  _Contemporary styling, Monochrome._ Lydia would love this, he thinks.

 

Stiles sees a scattering of picture frames on top of a black, bulky chest of drawers and realizes that this room isn’t likely to be a guest bedroom.  The pictures in the frames are mostly duos, a man with a little girl on his shoulders, a man and woman with their arms wrapped jovially around one-another. They’re all related, he thinks. Sharp features and eyebrows to rival the Khaleesi’s. Brothers and sisters, he decides. Noticing some towels placed on an ottoman at the bottom of the bed, he’s verging on going rabid at the thought of a shower.

 

Heading back toward the bed to fetch the towels, he notices there’s pictures on the bedside table too, these ones are different however, these aren’t just quick selfies snapped by two people quickly capturing a fun moment like the other ones, these ones are capturing moments too, buts it’s a family. A huge family, a huge family with happy faces in sunny places. But it’s the place he’s focusing on, or even more accurately, the trees. Those yellow-pines, the white-firs. They’re his trees. That’s the forest from back home. He can’t place the faces, however. And that shower is still waiting.

 

He goes over and grabs the towels, _cotton_ he thinks, _so soft._ He makes a mental note to remind himself to say a prayer to the God of these tropical and subtropical plants for the _soft, fluffy_ fiber known as _cotton_ they have blessed him with. Being rendered oblivious from the rest of this mundane world and immersed in the wonderful world of fresh towels and the possibility of clean showers, he goes straight to the en-suite. Stripping in a hurry, he’s scattering his clothes all over the bedroom floor and continuing in-to the bathroom to bestow his jeans and boxers upon the toilet floor. Time to navigate this shower, Stiles thinks. It’s large, and a walk in, the control are a myriad riddle of buttons and knobs and that seem so advanced it looks like Elon Musk took a break from designing spaceships and started coming up with confusing ways to get people soaked. Or really effective ways to prevent them getting soaked, Stiles isn’t quite sure.

 

He figures it out – with a lot more _ouches_ and _ahhhs_ than he’s proud of –and is eventually immersed in a hot stream of water. He finds more soaps than he knows what to do with, sitting on what appears to be a _marble_ shelf _inside_ the actual shower.

 Shampoos? Fine. 

 Shower-gels? Of course.

 Conditioner? Well sure, comes in handy on the off days you haven’t given yourself a buzz-cut. 

But… Body butter? He’s drawing the line there, he thinks, until –while replacing it- he smells it. Vanilla. Sold! Stiles thinks, canning his dignity, he’s keeping that for later.

 

He’s finished washing but not finished showering. He’s lost track of time, and he knows its because the shower has completely calmed his mind. He got lost in the moment.

He felt relaxed. He felt Secure. He felt safe. He’s also just remembered he has no idea where he is. 

Stiles scolds himself for spending so long showering --in a strangers’ cabin/house/ Interior Design magazine cover waiting to happen-- and his anxiety returns, it’s been a long time since he lived without the nervous feeling and he thinks it strange he didn’t notice its absence in those few bliss moments of showering. Time to make use of those towels, he dries himself off. Stiles tries to enjoy them like he did while caressing them earlier, but the uneasy feeling keeps him from appreciating them. He regroups his clothes and gets dressed. It’s time to find the owner.

Walking over to the door he opens it fully, it’s heavy, but opens with ease.

The view makes him catch his breathe, he’s fairly certain his heart skipped a beat. He’s mesmerized, that’s the only word he can think of to describe it. In-front of him is a two-story, full length, floor to ceiling window. He’s currently on the lower level, but the view is still impressive, the building must be at elevation.  He’s looking down on the tips of trees, dusted in soft white and with trunks that look as though they’ve been planted amongst a sea of those cotton plants he was ready to worship before his shower – he’ll treat them as deities from now on, he thinks. But the far shot, that is something really obsessing over. Miles and miles ahead yet with no obstructions, there’s a sea of white and clear skies. At the other end of the sea, various mountains and sheer peaks are visible.  They’re all disguised in white. Even from where Stiles is standing they’re so huge you can see the sharp edges of cliffs fighting their way through the smothering layer of snow that’s wrapped these mountains up like a giant blanket.

 

**CLUNK** **.**

 

“AHHYEEELP”,

Something fell downstairs, or something was dropped. Metal onto metal, Stiles thinks, or metal on tiles, or maybe it was something else completely and the sound was just a gallon of adrenaline entering his bloodstream. His heat is pounding and he’s not sure if it’s just from the fright or the embarrassment of the noise he uttered afterward.

Stiles is tip-toeing downstairs, nervous and feeling like he’s trespassing, even though objectively he knows he was brought into this place. This lower level looks like it’s actually the ground level, even though the one above was clearly the main level – with its open plan kitchen-dining room-living room layout. This one seems more utilitarian, washers and dryers appear to be in a small room to the left of the stairs, and to the right, a long hall way with a door to the outside at the end. The main thing catching his attention is the doorway in-front of him, it leads to a set of stairs. _How many levels does this place have?_ Stiles thinks to himself. The stairway is going down, and its dark. He’s seriously considering making good use of that door to the right. But again, thinking objectively about how this guy rescued him, Stiles decides he must be a decent guy. Just down in his basement doing decent guy stuff. Totally normal. Unlike running about a snowy forest in someone else’s PJs’.

He begins to descend the stairs slowly. He’s tip-toeing again. It isn’t as dark as he thought, the stairway isn’t lit, but there is a light at the bottom. As he gets lower he begins to hear the light shuffling of someone moving. No wonder the rest of the house is so Spartan, Stiles thinks, the basement is packed. There’s huge boxes and crates stacked one on-top the other forming little alleys inside a room that would otherwise be clear wall to wall. Stiles hopes he isn’t interrupting an Indiana Jones film shoot. 

He can still hear a distant racket and goes in search, turning left at the bottom of the stairs and following the sound. He’s wandering down the alley walled with boxes packed with who knows what, the noise is coming from the right now, so he takes the turn. This time it isn’t another alley, the boxes are still stacked here. Stacked five tall, this one is square, a room.  And the man sitting originally with his back to him has spun round and stood up, to face Stiles, before Stiles was even round the corner himself. 

The mans hard expression – or maybe that was just his face, was set in stone, at the very least, it’s a face you’d make if you’ve just been hit by a stone, Stiles thinks.  Stiles, not being a fan of stand-offs –or communicating through stares like this guy might be trying—decides to break the tension.

“Fancy we head somewhere we can talk without me having to worry about Indiana Jones swinging past, big guy?”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to continue, and maybe, just maybe, form a scene were these two manage to actually interact. Thanks for reading ;)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if this is even worth continuing, I just found myself devouring an almost abominable amount of Sterek over this holiday break and decided I'd try dabbling with my own little concept to pass some time. Sorry if I wasted anyones time folks! :D


End file.
